


The Brightest Star

by Fadesintothewest



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Tolkien Secret Santa 2018, tolkiensecretsanta2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-21 01:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17033780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/pseuds/Fadesintothewest
Summary: A story of the love between Eärwen and Arafinwë.





	1. Of Eärwen and Arafinwë

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WonderWafles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWafles/gifts).



> As part of Tolkien Secret Santa 2018, [officialtolkiensecretsanta](https://officialtolkiensecretsanta.tumblr.com/) , I created this story as a gift to WonderWafles. They have shared lovely, lovely headcanons that I have incorporated into this story. I hope it is satisfying. This is 2 part story. The next chapter will be posted soon and appear on December 24th! Hope you like it!

**Chapter 1: Of Eärwen and Arafinwë**

Being the youngest of the Noldóran was no easy task. Many said it was the reason Arafinwë was the most level-headed of Finwë’s children. Indeed, the more puerile gossips loved to imagine just what it was like for the golden headed son of Finwë growing up in the shadows of Fëanáro, Findis, Nolofinwë, and Írimë. So many egos to navigate, so many self-important elves, though many would think of Arafinwë only in relation to his older brothers. Little did Noldorin society pay attention to the women. Indeed, women did not have houses named after them, but many were there deeds, deeds that would not be written in the great tomes that would come later. Arafinwë understood this sooner than his brothers, their vanity and pride leading them on a longer journey to clarity.

 

_…But in telling this tale, if we are honest with our readers, it was his love of a woman that gained him an upper hand. Eärwen was her name…_

 

Arafinwë first met her when he was but a child, walking along the shores of the Bay of Eldamar. He was with his father and Findis, combing the beach for the rare emeralds and sapphires one could find when digging deep into the sands of Alqualondë. He heard her first, her voice like a siren, soft and fey. When he raised his head from his task he saw her in all her splendor, but to his child eyes, she appeared as one of the Maiar, resplendent, her light undimmed.

 

“Eärwen!” he heard his eldest sister call out. The two maidens ran to each other and shared an embrace as greeting. Their hair mingled, the shore winds braiding together Eärwen’s almost white hair with the golden hair of Findis.

  
Arafinwë hid behind his father, always shy amongst those beings he believed to be something other than an elf. Finwë also greeted the younger elf, though she was not so young as his children. “Ah, a jewel in the sands!” he exclaimed.

 

Eärwen embraced Finwë, who was like an uncle to her, her father sharing with Finwë the charge and sometimes burden of leading their respective peoples. Like Finwë, she was a daughter of the other side, had journeyed with her people to settle in Eldamar upon the shores.

 

“And who is this?” she asked, peering around Finwë to the small child clutching a leg. He was an odd one, she mused. His frocks were Vanyarin in style and color. Truly this was a child of Indis!

 

Finwë gently detached the child. “This is my youngest, Arafinwë,” he offered, kneeling beside the shy child. Eärwen followed suit, kneeling upon the sands so she could properly greet Finwë’s youngest son and Prince of the Noldor.

 

“Well met, noble son.”

 

Arafinwë tried his best to be serious, lowering his head, “Well met…” but not knowing her name he looked up at his father expectantly for the missing information. This caused Finwë and Eärwen to laugh, triggering much consternation in Arafinwë. “But I do not know her name!” the little elf insisted.

 

Eärwen took his hand and gently pulled his chin towards her. “I am Eärwen, daughter of Olwë. And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

Arafinwë set his little mouth to reflect the seriousness of the moment. “Well met Eärwen, daughter of Olwë. I thought you were one of those scary Maiar. But now I feel better because I know you are not.”

 

“Indeed!” Eärwen responded, a soft smile gracing her face.

 

“But you really are too beautiful to be an elf,” Finwë’s youngest offered, most solemnly.

 

Eärwen laughed heartily, but it was such a sound that it did not cause Arafinwë embarrassment. Instead it filled him with joy, eliciting a smile because how could one not feel joy with such song?!

 

Eärwen stood, ruffling Arafinwë’s hair. “He has a silver tongue like his father,” she offered, looking at Finwë.

 

Findis chimed in, “You know what they say of the Princes of the Noldor!”

 

Eärwen turned to her cousin. “So it is.” Taking Findis’ hand in hers and turning cheekily towards Finwë, Eärwen added, “Lucky for us, it is only the deeds of men that clamor on the tongues of people.”

 

Finwë laughed heartily. It was a great big bold sound, ringing free. Arafinwë loved seeing his father so relaxed, so free to enjoy this little back and forth. It was a rare sight to see him so relaxed.

 

The three walked back to town and to the residence of Olwë where they would be staying. The entire time, Arafinwë watched as the three adults exchanged words. He knew he must marry. In fact he had heard many a noble vying for Arafinwë’s betrothal since he had memory, such was Noldorin politics. In this moment, Arafinwë decided he would marry, who he would marry, and that it was best he make his intentions known sooner than later.

 

“I shall marry Eärwen,” Arafinwë declared later that day at dinner, the silver light of Telperion dimmer upon the shores of the sea. “She will make a good spouse. She is nice and would make the friendship between our houses that of blood. And she is beautiful too.”

 

The entire table stopped their conversation and turned to look at the little child with golden hair. Eärwen wanted to laugh but she suppressed it for little did she want to make the young elf feel foolish. Arafinwë was earnest in a way that was refreshing. Fëanáro had never been so innocent as a child, and she felt sorry for Finwë’s eldest, really, believing he had been robbed of that when Míriel faded.

 

Olwë took it in stride. Leaning over to Arafinwë, he asked, “And what of my daughter’s desires? Will she choose the same?”

 

Arafinwë was puzzled. Furrowing his eyebrows, he looked between Eärwen and Olwë and finally his father. “Is not marriage simply an agreement?”

 

Finwë took Arafinwë’s little hand in his, “Not simply an agreement. For two elves to marry there must be love between them.” Finwë decided in this moment that it was time Arafinwë was spoken to more honestly about the politics that surrounded him, but he also vowed to himself that he would see to it that Arafinwë grow up outside such politics as much as possible, a luxury his eldest sons did not have.

 

“Love,” Arafinwë considered most seriously. Looking up at Olwë, he clarified, “Is this what you mean of desires?”

 

Findis and Eärwen giggled. Falliel, Eärwen’s mother, shushed the two maidens, though she too looked upon the little child with much amusement.

 

Findis spoke, swatting Eärwen playfully, “I think, little brother, you should ask your intended what she desires.”

 

It was Indis’ turn to tut-tut her daughter, but Eärwen did not miss a beat. Composing herself and mimicking her father she leaned over conspiratorially towards Arafinwë. “When I marry, it will be my choice.” Knowing that Noldorin life for the children of Finwë was more formal than her upbringing, she felt a keen desire to lift the child’s spirits.

 

Arafinwë folded his arms, not hiding his displeasure and disappointment. Sharing an accusatory look with his father, he complained, “Do I have a choice?”

 

Finwë’s eyes softened. Clearly, little Arafinwë was more astute and picked up far more than his father anticipated. “Of course you have a choice my son.”

 

Not convinced, Arafinwë looked to his mother. “I too will marry who I desire?” 

 

Indis, who sat on the other side of Arafinwë, ran her hand through his golden hair, so much like hers. “Aye my love, you will marry someone you love.”

 

“And let us hope she is worthy of you, little prince,” Eärwen responded thoughtfully and earnestly.

 

Her eyes were like the stars. She was more than a Maiar, Arafinwë considered. She would be easy to love, he decided then…

 

)()()()(

 

Arafinwë’s memories of that moment were bright like the eyes of Arien, though he could not look directly into that moment, it shone like a jewel. It was a precious memory and it marked him in that way that those things that are inevitable do. He was only a child, but he had decided then, that he would marry the beautiful Eärwen, but he could not imagine as a child what that meant.

 

Arafinwë was freer in childhood than was possible for his siblings. Less political attention was focused on him, less of Fëanáro’s misplaced anger was laid at his feet. Nevertheless he was quite aware of the intrigue around him, witnessed the subtle, coiling ways that words and their power were wielded. Indeed, he was quite an observant child, saw how his siblings would quarrel, especially Nolofinwë and Fëanáro. Even as a child Arafinwë had favorites. He hated admitting it, but he favored Nolofinwë over Fëanáro. As an adult Arafinwë understood that Fëanaro allowed no deep love to grow between them, but as a child, he felt guilty for choosing sides.

 

As he grew, the distance between he and Fëanáro widened and he grew closer to Nolofinwë, going to his eldest brother for those matters not appropriate for his mother or father.

 

Arafinwë had recently had his coming of age ceremony. It had been quite the event in Tirion. Royalty from all three peoples of the Eldar were present. But the most important person at his coming of age ceremony had been her. He had not seen her since he was an adolescent, though time was not something that figured for elves, for Arafinwë the time spent between the last time he set eyes upon Eärwen and this moment had been too long. And when he saw her he fell more deeply in love with her…

 

_…Now dear readers, excuse the interruption. I don’t want you to think Arafinwë is a creeper. Elves and love and longing are ethereal and magical in many ways, and especially so when it comes to matters of the heart. So now that that’s settled let’s go on…_

 

Eärwen was resplendent. She was grace embodied. Arafinwë’s heart ached and his soul yearned for her. He danced with her that night, felt the shape of her waist beneath his hands, stole furtive glances at the shape of her breasts, inhaled the smell of her. His desire—oh how he desired her—was so potent he dared not dance with her again. He hoped he did not insult her with his inattention, but he did not want her to think him a typical Noldorin fellow who thought too much of himself and expected the ladies to fawn after him.

 

But Eärwen did not think of him that way. She was quite taken with Arafinwë that night, and much to her chagrin, for she kept telling herself she was too old for him. He was but come of age and she was long in years, and yet, up until then, no one had moved her heart so! Finwë’s youngest was beautiful, gentle, and vigorous. He was tall and strong, though not quite yet the imposing strong that characterized the Noldor. Later, Eärwen wondered if she had met him in his later years if she would have fallen in love with Arafinwë so easily and quickly? She kept these thoughts to herself, shared them only with her friend and confidant, Anairë, Nolofinwë’s spouse. And when Arafinwë returned to her after turning away from his brothers and the violence they reaped, she knew then, that definitively, she would love him in whatever moment he came to her. Theirs was a fated love, a love that was written in the stars, in the music of Eä. 

 

After his coming of age, Eärwen and Arafinwë spent much time together in Tirion, each using the excuse that the other was uniquely suited to hear the other’s quibbles of the stifling life in Tirion. In Eärwen Arafinwë found he could be silly, his words not tracked and recorded to be later analyzed and reported on. Eärwen found Arafinwë dazzling, at ease with himself and humble, so unlike many of the men that surrounded her. They enjoyed exploring the lesser parts of Tirion, the lower levels, where the shopkeepers, the guilds, and the commoner led their lives. They were often in the company of Nolofinwë and his spouse, Anairë, who lucky for Arafinwë proved to be her closest friend. But soon Eärwen’s time in Tirion ended and they bid each other a friendly farewell though their hearts yearned for more.

 

Arafinwë, for a change, did not know what to do. This was an unusual feeling for Finwë’s youngest who had grown sure of himself, confident in his ability to know, yet humble enough to seek council when he did not as he did on this occasion. To Nolofinwë he took his thoughts, opened up his heart and shared the desires that stirred within him.

 

Months after his coming of age, on a hunting trip with Nolofinwë, as the two took repose and enjoyed the brightness of the stars out in the wilds away from the light of the two trees, Arafinwë confided in his brother: “Nolo, I fear that my heart is taken, but I do not know how to let her know for my heart’s desire is like a stranger.”

 

Nolofinwë smiled. He knew who claimed his brother’s heart, had observed how Arafinwë looked longingly after Eärwen, spent much time with the two in Tirion after Arafinwë’s coming of age. Always direct, Nolofinwë replied, “You fear you have nothing to offer her. You fear that she cannot see you as you do her for the difference in age between you.”

 

“Yes,” Arafinwë breathed his eyes lost in the stars above them. Surely there was something in that starscape that could guide him.

 

Nolofinwë sat up from where he had been laying watching the stars. Observing his brother, seeing the look that claims an elf when in love, he decided on a plan. Standing, he offered a hand to his brother.

 

Arafinwë looked up curiously at his brother but took his outstretched hand, allowing Nolofinwë to help him stand. Raising a single eyebrow, Arafinwë waited for his brother to say more.

 

“It is time to leave,” is all Nolofinwë said, but he shared a conspiratorial wink with his brother.

 

Arafinwë’s eyes narrowed. “Just what are you up to?” he demanded.

 

Nolofinwë ignored his brother and gathered their gear, making quick work of packing up their light camp. Satisfied that they left no trace, Nolofinwë whistled for his horse. “I suggest you do the same,” Nolofinwë added, his eyes focused on the direction he heard his horse answer.

 

Arafinwë followed suit, eyeing his brother.

 

Nolofinwë jumped on his horse as did Arafinwë. Turning towards Alqualondë, Nolofinwë asked his brother, “Do you trust me?”

 

“Implicitly,” Arafinwë answered.

 

Nolofinwë smiled devilishly. “Now let’s go see about the Swan Maiden of Alqualondë.” Nolofinwë knew he could count on Eärwen’s brothers, though he hoped they wouldn’t haze his brother too seriously. It was the price for her hand, Nolofinwë concluded, his anticipation for their change in plans growing.

 

Arafinwë’s eyes grew wide, but his heart beat faster with anticipation!

 

)()()()(

 

Though love would come easy between Arafinwë and Eärwen, there was also a doom that awaited them. Eärwen would not be free of the Noldorin intrigue she had watched from afar. She would witness it consume her children. Though her life’s biggest love would stay beside her, she would lose a part of her heart the moment her children chose otherwise. Eärwen, the Swan Maiden of Alqualondë, Princes of the Teleri in Eldamar, would also know pain, loss, and understand fear.

 

 _…Elves are indeed_ _ethereal and magical but also fated for sorrow. Their stories remain as both guidance and warning. They guide us to our truer selves and warn us to not stray from what is beautiful and meaningful lest we lose our way and find ourselves fading, too…_

 

 

 

TBC

 


	2. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotes between * are taken directly from The Silmarillion.

**Chapter 2: The Beginning of the End**

 

Many heard Fëanáro’s words threatening Nolofinwë that fateful day:  _*“’See, half-brother!’ he said. ‘This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be master of thralls.’” *_

Nolofinwë walked silently through the throng that had gathered around the King’s house in the Great Square. People were whispering, some shouting, even those that had not heard Fëanáro threaten Nolofinwë in the Council Chambers. Never could he imagine that this would be an experience any Elf would face, let alone him. He could not be in the company of his father, Finwë, for it was clear to Nolofinwë that he would do little to rebuke Fëanáro. There was only one person he could go to.

 

Such was the tumult in Tirion. A paradise that was falling apart at the seams, a story held together by desires that were not big enough for some. Fëanáro dreamed bigger. And to be quite honest, so did most of the Noldor, the rebellious children of the Valar.

 

)()()()()(

 

Arafinwë did not witness Fëanáro’s show in front of the Council. He knew what Nolofinwë was saying to their father. They had discussed what Nolofinwë wanted to say to Finwë, though Arafinwë’s heart was set against it. Nolofinwë, however, felt it was time to confront his father. A knock at his doors broke Arafinwë out of his reverie. _News from the Council_ , Arafinwë thought, raising his voice for whoever it was: “Enter.”

 

It was Findaráto. Upon seeing him, Arafinwë stood, such was the look on his son’s face. It was a look he would remember for he had never seen such fear on his son’s face. This moment he would remember as the beginning of the end, though truly, the discord had begun long before.

 

“Fëanáro threatened Fingolfin in court!” 

 

What?” Arafinwë could not believe what he was hearing. “Tell me everything!”

 

Findaráto threw himself onto a chair and repeated Nolofinwë’s words to Finwë, describing how Fëanáro rushed into court fully armed. “And he drew his sword on Nolofinwë and said to him: ‘Get thee gone, and take thy due place!’”

 

Arafinwë gasped. “What did my brother do?” he asked referring to Nolofinwë, without naming him. Of course Findaráto knew he would be asking about Nolofinwë and not Fëanáro.

 

“He held his tongue and bowed before grandfather, leaving without looking back at Fëanáro. I came here immediately.”

 

Arafinwë shook his head. “I am glad you did. Surely, Nolofinwë will be coming here for he needs council.” Arafinwë had ever been that for Nolofinwë, for in his youngest brother Nolofinwë knew he could find wise and honest council. Nolofinwë and Lalwen were too alike in their love -hate relationship with Fëanáro to offer each other the best council, but Nolofinwë would go to Lalwen when he knew he needed to be petulant.

 

But Findaráto did not witness nor hear of the threats that followed; thus when Nolofinwë swung open the doors to Arafinwë’s chambers, the young prince could not imgaine what transpired, but the look on his uncle’s face spoke volumes.

 

Nolofinwë’s face was pale and drawn. Arafinwë waited for his brother to speak, saying nothing. Nolofinwë walked up to a desk and placed his hands heavily upon it, allowing his nerves to calm. Taking deep breaths, Nolofinwë quieted his mind, slowed his heart. This was a new sensation for him, these feelings before this hour entirely alien, but now they crawled within him, thoroughly changing him.

 

Quietly, with a look, Arafinwë sent his son out. Findaráto closed the doors and went out looking for Findekáno or Turukáno.

 

Looking up at his younger brother, Nolofinwë broke his silence with a question. “You know our brother came into council, that he was fully armed?”

 

Arafinwë shook his head. “Findaráto told me how he drew his sword.”

 

Nolofinwë stood back up, finding his legs solid beneath him once more. He knew the next words he would share with his brother would be written in history books. Perhaps they might be counted amongst the most important words in elven history. “I left the King’s chambers, but Fëanáro followed me.”

 

Arafinwë was not surprised by that.

 

Nolofinwë continued. “He stayed me at the door of our father’s house and brought his sword against my chest, threatening me.”

 

Arafinwë’s mouth dropped open in shock. It could not be! Arafinwë could not imagine that worse would come, but it had indeed!

 

Nolofinwë closed his eyes, quieting his voice, and repeated his elder brother’s words: * _’See, half-brother!’ he said. ‘This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be master of thralls.’”*_ Opening his eyes he caught his brother’s gaze. “Many heard Fëanáro’s words. Coming here I was flanked by many. Some cried out, clamoring about Fëanáro’s betrayal. Yet others whispered that I should know my place.”

 

Arafinwë placed his hand upon Nolofinwë’s shoulder.

 

“I came to you for I know I cannot go to father. He will not see our side in this.”

 

Indeed, the threat against Nolofinwë was a threat against all the children of Indis, though her eldest son, Nolofinwë, was seen as the main aggressor by Fëanáro, the one Fëanáro feared most.

 

“That he uttered those words to you is unthinkable, but now  we know what Fëanáro is fully capable of," Arafinwë offered. Fëanáro could not be trusted. He needed to make sure Nolofinwë understood that. "What will you do?” Arafinwë asked, knowing Nolofinwë needed to work out his response, but more importantly his feelings and the threat that Fëanáro was truly capable of the inconceivable.

 

Nolofinwë’s shoulder’s slumped. “I do not know. All of this,” he said, waving his hand around as if catching the chaos of the world they now lived in, “is a first, an unknown I wish I never discovered.”

 

“Our days our indeed full of deeds we never could fathom. These are dark days,” Arafinwë muttered, also trying to wrap his head around the tumult that was plunging them into unfamiliar territory.

 

“I cannot rebuke him” Nolofinwë reasoned, his eyes searching the books that lined the shelves in the room. Perhaps there was a story in those books that could offer him something, but there was nothing, naught a tale in their entire history offered them any idea of what to do in such times. There were no lessons to rely on, no knowledge to draw from.  All Nolofinwë could do was consider Fëanáro.

 

Looking at Arafinwë he said, “I cannot confront him. I must not make him grow in his madness,” for that is how they began referring to Fëanáro, as mad. On the other side they had witnessed creatures driven rabid from disease. It was the only descriptor Nolofinwë could find for Fëanáro though he knew that far from mad or rabid, Fëanáro was hurt and hurt animals acted from fear.

 

“But how has it come to this,” Nolofinwë searched, his hand on his temple. He walked back and forth across the room, muttering, thinking, planning, trying to grasp what scenario would come.

 

“Surely the Valar will intervene,” Arafinwë counseled.

 

Nolofinwë shook his head in agreement.

 

“They will condemn him,” Arafinwë offered. “Too long have they observed how the discontent has grown amongst us yet said nothing. They cannot let this deed go unpunished.” 

 

“Agreed,” Nolofinwë answered.

 

The two talked into the mingling of the two trees. Others came to that room: Lalwen, Indis, their sons, and even Eärwen and Anairë. Finwë was conspicuously absent. They decided, together, that Nolofinwë would not leave Finwë’s house until summoned. Indis had ordered all unnecessary personnel to leave. Finwë did not stop her, but his time was spent with Fëanáro and his family. The lines were most remarkably drawn in the course of those hours, more than they had ever been.

 

The summons came after the waning of the silver light of Telperion. All parties involved in the chaos, all those with knowledge of such deeds were to come before the Valar to the gates of Valmar, realm of the Valar, where there they would be judged.  Of course the Valar knew immediately of what transpired and did not delay before sending an eagle to bear the summons.

 

It would be a trip of many days to go to Valmar, but the preparations were made.  Many of the Maiar came to Tirion to watch over  the city. For some it felt almost as if an invading army had arrived, while others welcomed their presence. One would think that these beliefs would be neatly divided between the supporters of Fëanáro or Nolofinwë, that one would favor the Maiar and the other not, but this was not the case. Tirion was coming undone.

 

)()()()(

 

An oath. Seven sons sworn to their father, to Fëanáro. Brothers, sisters torn apart. Two stayed. The other departed.

 

Arafinwë returned to her. He stepped through the threshold into their home. It was deathly quiet, for it seemed not a soul had crossed through that threshold before. Perhaps that is what he sacrificed and would have to build once more. Could he? Arafinwë returned a different person, not quite sure of himself, of tomorrow, of whether his partner in life would receive him. His brothers, his children, gone. He walked through the halls, the sounds of his footsteps echoing, a haunting sound, but then the vibrations of those echoes returned to him brighter, reverberating from the softness of her body. He steeled himself to see her and accept whatever she would say to him.

 

Eärwen heard him walking towards her. She stood facing towards the Bay of Eldamar, the light of the stars her guide. Why she returned to Tirion she would not dare say, but many knew she could not show her face in Alqualondë for she felt too tied to the Kinslayers. Her children, her Ingo, had nothing to do with that, but they nevertheless had marched with the traitors into the bitter North. The dim lights from the Fëanorian lamps reflected a green and blue of the waters familiar to her, but now only a bitter reminder of a life and story so utterly changed she felt rudderless. They all did.

 

_If you can imagine, the tumult of the Noldor was like the coming of new order, a new world, that they could not fathom, only perhaps a few. Those that dared dream were deemed mad. Tirion locked itself down, retreated into a deep and sorrowful mourning. They were a people irrevocably changed._

Arafinwë fell to his knees and wept the moment his eyes took in the form of his spouse. He fell forward, unable to control the sobbing that racked his body. He was returning to his beloved without their children. Woe these times! Curse these times! What path his children took he did not know, could not see ahead. The way was dark. Their stories now led only to Doom, the Doom of Mandos, the Doom of the Noldor.

 

Eärwen could not move from where she watched the pronated form of her Arafinwë, her love, but she felt every emotion, every thought, suffered with every cry uttered from her husband that her children were ripped from her. No! she cried out, but the words would not come. “No,” her voice broke, “tell me that they follow behind you!”

 

Arafinwë looked up at her in that moment and shook his head. He had failed her, failed all of them. He could not imagine how to go forward. Neither could Eärwen.

 

_The Noldor were young. Children really. Not yet weary, had not weathered the pains of the world. The Noldor did not know those lesson that the mortal beings, the Second Born yet to come, understand well- that life is fleeting, that we are but a moment in a mystery of some sort of creation and whatever it is that we name time._

 

“I feel old,” Arafinwë whispered, his tears dissipating, leaving him. He felt every bit of what it meant to be alive in that moment, felt the emptiness begin to swallow where there had just been pain. It was a strange thing for an elf to feel the passing of seconds, to feel embodied in a way that brought no joy. “I feel unworthy…”

 

Eärwen resented him, resented the moment she met that little golden child on the beach, but she felt entirely selfish for it and could not trust these alien feelings. She could not hold her tongue. “Your family has brought us ruin!”

 

Arafinwë did not protest. After a moment of silence he offered the only words that came to him. “The only thing I know for sure is how I love you and our children, but I do not know how that is enough.”

 

Eärwen did not respond, choosing to sit and observe her husband, noticing how the blue and green light caught in his eyes, as if trying to fill them once more with the light that had been diminished.

 

Arafinwë pulled himself up and sat in a chair a distance from Eärwen. “I can never ask for forgiveness. Not for this. That would be a crime.” In his mind, he replayed the scene as he left his children. Their faces, were grim, but proud. It tore him to turn from them and head back, but he needed to. Many of the Noldor that decided to remain looked to him and he acted for them, as a leader, as a son of Finwë. This too made him feel all the sicker. All for duty, a sense of fealty. Did not Fëanáro act out of that as did Nolofinwë whose love for Fëanáro had ever been strongest? Their desire to Journey now seemed another kind of doom. The darkness of Tirion was oppressive, not like the strange clear of the North that his children walked.  In that North the sky was wide, the circle of the of world announcing a great divide. Tirion was now a place for grieving, a place of change.

 

Eärwen looked at her husband, saw the age on him, his beauty stolen. It would return, but it would be some time before she would look at him and see the man who courted her. She spoke to him, her heart too tired to protest. “We are wedded in both heart and spirit. Now we are wedded in our grief. I cannot forgive you…” She paused thinking what words should come next for they would mark her road for an eternity. “I know not how, but we will go forward and find healing though we will never be the same people we were.”  Finding her confidence, she spoke firmly. “You will heal this terrible wound that your siblings have wrought. This you will do for them, for us, for our children.”

 

_Women are strong, stronger than stories usually take time tell. It is in those quiet moments, the in between of the story where a woman’s hand extends to take hold of the so-called hero and bring him into her fold and hold him there, with and through her strength._

 

Eärwen stood, holding out her hand to her beloved. Arafinwë stood up and walked into her embrace. They wept into one another, sharing the loss of their children, not seeking a forgiveness, but the first glimpse of a way forward that would take a long time to forge.

 

 

 _He would be King and she there Queen, but the Noldor of Tirion would forever be marked as the Noldor that stayed. Arafinwë too would march to war like his brothers, but he knew he would never understand the lives led on the other side of that clear divide._ _For those that would return, they would be the Exiles. The two peoples would work hard to heal their wounds once more, but the burden of the King would stay with Arafinwë and Eärwen would be at his side, though the tales that follow do not say much of her story, though we know it in the very marrow of our being that Eärwen, like other mothers and daughters, brought their people together with grit, with grace, and ultimately, with hope._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this for wonderwafle! They provided me so many wonderful headcanons to weave this together!!!


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